We Finally Have Time
by PaintingMusic14
Summary: "Stop staring!" "I'm not." In which Jacob is uncharacteristically stubborn and Emma just wants an answer.


**_Author's Note: I recently finished this series, and have fallen absolutely in love with it. I really wish there were more fanfiction stories on these books, but unfortunately there aren't many, so I had hoped to add to the small collection in hopes that it would reach the few who are craving more like I am..._**

 ** _I did not misquote the last line of the book, I merely added to it so that it would not sound quite as cheesy if I had used it, haha...If you did enjoy, please review and favorite!_**

 ** _I do not own Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, but if I did, I would most definitely not have sold the rights to Hollywood...(P.S. if you haven't seen the movie...don't! Or do, if you wish to berate it as much as I have, lol)_**

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We Finally Have Time

"Stop it."

His eyes immediately flit from the fluttering page of his book to my scowling, accusatory eyes, his right hand still resting upon the thirteenth page. I momentarily glance at it. His hand has been there for the previous twenty minutes, immobile as a hunk of solid stone, and as pressingly curious as a perplexing riddle.

"Stop what?" he queries, leaning in a exaggerated casual manner across the faded green print of his sofa. A lock of dark brown hair slips into the gap between his eyes, but he ignores it. It bothers me in an aching need to be perfect, but I suppress it as I do all my other urges.

When he continues his feigned ignorance, I heave a long repressed sigh from my pursed lips and snap my own novel shut. "You _know_ what, Jacob Samuel Portman," I scoff, pushing up the arch of my glasses in a dominant manner. I doubt it sends him the desired message, but I execute the action anyway. If he doesn't take heed of my rather fatuous need for being an authoritative female now, he will simply have to in the future.

He smirks infuriatingly, winning the title of sovereign this time around at my false utterance. "That's not my middle name." His hand finally moves, now taking on a new position on the printed sheet of paper.

I fume, a miniscule flame sparking to life on the bridge of my nose, causing the plastic of my spectacles to heat up uncomfortably. I swat the dancing fire away before returning to the discussion at hand, further irritated with this interruption.

Jacob twists his lips to stifle an obvious grin as soon as I meet his gaze and it's all I can do to hold back a torrent of disapproving words. How dare he laugh when I'm attempting to convey a serious request?

Fortunately, he at least provides an explanation, though it is one that is rather unwanted. "You're very cute when you do that," he divulges at my inquiring expression, referring to my small flame. A slight flush blooms onto his face, a similar one that creeps up whenever he utters a compliment directed towards me.

To my dismay, a mirrored scarlet pervades heatedly across my face. "Not helpful," I manage to solemnly dissuade, although a smile tugs at the corners of my lips.

"Really? It seemed to."

I snap out of my good humor. "How so?"

Jacob folds his fingers together thoughtfully, a familiar habit that was once possessed by Abe, though I suspect he doesn't know of it. "It got you to smile, didn't it?"

"No."

"Liar."

I relax my lips. "Fine."

"Good, girl."

I cock a disbelieving brow, simultaneously enjoying his rare audacity and also disliking its dominant tone. Such statements from Jacob are rather unusual, but admittedly amusing.

"Too much?"

"Too much," I confirm, half teasing, half serious. "Now, back to our conversation: please stop it."

Jacob plops his head onto his hand in defeat, cocking his head in an admittedly adorable affectation. "Stop _what_?" he presses.

I set aside my rather bulky tome, and cross my arms defensively. " _Staring_."

He blushes again, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat. "I wasn't."

"You're quite the stubborn boy, aren't you? I clearly observed you, Jacob...Portman." I choke near the end, unsure as to what a second guess at a middle name would get me.

On the other hand, perceiving an out, he latches onto this statement with rapid eagerness. "Still stuck on the middle name thing, are we?" He grins in a wonderful mockery of the Cheshire cat, playing the feline toying with a captured mouse.

I'm having none of it. "Jacob!"

"Fine. What do you want me to say?"

"I'll stop?" I offer, raising my hand incredulously.

"What if I don't want to?"

The question catches me off guard and I have to concentrate to camouflage the urge to recoil, not from disgust but purely from bafflement. Whatever do I say to that? It's not as if I don't return his affection, not in the least, it's just I seem to have a harder time conveying it in words. Jacob is quite good at it, I admit, but it always sends my heart reeling and my head fluttering when he does so.

" _What if I don't actually want you to stop and you can keep going?"_ is on the tip of my tongue, but I can't seem to unlock it from its stiff, rooted position in my chalky mouth. I'm truthfully quite hot-tempered and oftentimes bold, but when it comes to Jacob-or any other relationship for that matter-that all seems to fade away into a distant, hazy memory.

"Now _you're_ staring," he interjects, brushing away the foggy pondering from my brain with apparent relish.

"Oh, do stop," I say weakly, aware my response barely dents his smug pride.

Jacob considers this for a moment, before developing a suspicious twinkle in his eyes. "Fine."

Somehow I don't believe him.

As if reading my thoughts, he stands up abruptly, raising his hands into the air and stretching them with a sigh of pleasure. This too confuses me, his action seemingly random, save for my musings which seemed to prompt the action.

I continue to watch warily, albeit a little curious, as he lets his arms drop languidly. Then, he turns on his heel and crosses over to me with a barely perceptible waver in his stride, his murky brown eyes divulging some secret action I can't perceive. When he approaches me, I finally begin to see his motive and wonder briefly whether I should stop it or not. After all, we were having an important discussion.

But bowing his head over the ripped back of my chair, and squishing the protruding clumps of fluffy stuffing under his chest in the process, he leans over and presses his lips to my forehead with no contest. I slide my eyes shut and subconsciously sink into his kiss, brushing away our argument with one sadistic action. Nope, not going to stop it.

"I still don't want to, by the way," he mumbles against my flushed skin. "Do you want a sandwich?" At this, he lifts up and turns away, jolting me once again into the apathetic arms of reality.

"You make no bloody sense," I grumble, shell-shocked and disappointed at being once again defeated by a usual loser.

"Kiss me and I'll explain," he calls rashly from the kitchen, the clinking of glass bottles twinkling in the air a tell-tale sign he's rummaging through the refrigerator.

"Why should I? It has nothing to do with-"

"It does."

I scowl, push myself off of my rather comfortable cushion, and stalk quickly to the kitchen. Jacob glances up and chuckles.

"Alright then, explain."

"Kiss." is his infuriating reply.

I prop myself against the counter, crossing my ankles as he twists open his package of alarmingly white bread (I still haven't gotten used to the colours of food here). "This is just a ruse to get me to kiss you," I accuse brusquely, tapping my nails against the sleeve of my dress.

Jacob slaps a slice of deli meat onto his bread, not batting an eyelash at the suspiciously bright pink colour, and spreads some yellow ( _yellow_!) cheese atop it to match. "It's not," he comments tersely.

"Jacob, we were _just_ having a conversation, which you abruptly disrupted for no apparent reason. What else am I supposed to believe?" I open my mouth to continue my illustration, but my attention is caught by his newest addition to his sandwich. "Are you putting crisps on it?"

His eyebrows furrow and he turns his head to survey my countenance with inquiry. "Crisps?"

"Oh, for pity's sake, _chips_ , you halfwit." I rub a heated hand over my face tiredly. "I've been here for a week and I know what _you_ call them."

He shrugs hopelessly, an action quite appropriate for his lack of knowledge and turns back to his sandwich. I stare impatiently at his back.

When no progress is made and we stay locked in a silent battle, the quiet lull of tension crashes over us until Jacob finally clears his throat. I smugly congratulate myself on maintaining my stubborn title, once again beating out my opponent.

He turns his head slightly, hesitating as if gauging and weighing his next words. "Kiss," he reminds me softly.

"You're lucky I really want an answer," I mutter reluctantly, moving to appease him as I lurch from my position and approach his form.

But he meets me halfway instead-once more demolishing my plans-and deepens my formerly curt, concise kiss into a lingering one. I don't protest, being rather weak against his offenses, reciprocating despite my slight irritation.

However it's all business after that. "Explain," I breathe as his lips break apart from mine and we take a repose.

"You know I love you," he admits bluntly, reiterating a statement I've heard a myriad of times. It still doesn't cease to stun me. "And while I'll stop staring," he continues quietly. "I don't want to, just as much as I don't want to stop kissing you." He slides his eyes open to peer into the turmoiled brown ocean of my own, scrutinizing their depth in a profound thoughtfulness. "Because I can hardly believe you won't slip from my grasp again, Emma. And-"

I interrupt him, lightly tapping my forefinger to the pink swell of his lips. "Keep staring, then," I whisper, allowing myself to relinquish hold on my emotions. There was something in his eyes, something that tore down my defenses and something that spoke of stalwart affection. He may have whispered, but his words were full of raucous proclamations. His release of withheld emotions and concerns bothered me, but I dealt with it the best way I knew.

I returned to the moment at hand, burying myself into the hollow of his chest. "And I'm not going anywhere."

He cracks a bittersweet smile, pressing his forehead to mine sweetly, a gesture that truly melts whatever is left of my defenses. "Good."

Just as he appears to lean in once more, I smirk cheekily and suddenly strain a hand to reach for his bag of crisps. Managing to snatch one between my fingers, I then commence to hold one in between us like a salty, thin wall, pressing one side to each of our lips.

"But they're crisps, got it?"

"Got it."

I remove the barrier, but refuse a kiss, embracing Jacob instead. "Promise me you won't leave either."

"How could I?" His hand rests tenderly on my waist. "I don't doubt you, Emma Bloom."

"I know," I tell his shirt buttons. "You just needed assurance."

He stammers, quick to backtrack. "I don't need-"

I affirm my previous statement with certainty. "Not assurance in _me_ , assurance that nothing is going to snatch me from your grip." I consider his eyes thoughtfully. "Only time can, Jacob."

He cracks a small smile. "And now we finally have time."


End file.
